This is a serious one. Sorry. Macular degeneration is a constant threat in this latitude. (25)

Blindness


As in a drunken dream
Between the earth and sky,
Caught in a golden seam,
Dazzled by sun from high
Eagles who draw my eye
Far into fire where flight
Grips at my heart to dare
Heaven to steal my sight.
Infinite light is there,
Jagged with rays to bite,
Kindling the blur of night.
Loosen your dagger, pain,
Metal can shine as bright.
Nothing is white again.
Onyx with bands of black,
Palings with strips of glare,
Quasars that answer back,
Riddles that mock despair,
Silent with hot contempt,
Taunting the image lost.
Unequal beauty bent,
Vision, remembered tossed
Withered into the past.
Xeroxed from grey to wan.
Yelping for nights that shone—
Zodiacs dead and gone.



[This message has been edited by Janet Kenny (edited May 11, 2008).]

This are hard. I had fun writing this, but doubt it's going anywhere.
"This are hard." hmm, yas, and you find English hard, too, dear?
Should have said: These are hard to write.

Alphabet of Aging

after all
...... everybody ages
every body
...... bees to babies
crash that car
...... like a cartoon coyote
down that dinner
...... like a goddamn dog
elbow to ether
...... e-mail to other
it happens fast
......faster than feeling
gets going
...... in the guzzling gut
harbored hell
...... now hell-bent
inches your ice-floe
...... home into
the jail, the jungle
...... the unjust junkyard
of aging, akin to
...... kingdom Kaddish
lullaby lost
...... last longings
unmoored, mother
...... and father, no more
nor neighbor, for need
......nor nestling, for comfort
nor ovum, nor opening
...... longing only
for peace impossible
...... or ripe pears
or queer quiet
......or quenched thirst
no rest results
...... from running down
it’s simply the same
...... sob story
two-timing
...... fleet time
losing, the usual
...... you and your
vivid visions
...... of worthy investments
oh God, the wait
...... worry, waste
extra, excess
...... yet inexorably
when youth evades you
...... be young! be young!
be in the zone
...... of zip and zest



[This message has been edited by Mary Meriam (edited May 11, 2008).]

Thsee look fun. You've all done well with them. I started one, but can't seem to focus with so much congestion in my head.

Anesthesia would be nice
to put Bronchitis crud on ice
Colds are wicked to the core
Dragging me down to the Druggist's store ....

Eh, I think I better wait till I'm feeling better to write anything!

Janet, that's really good.

Here's one of the many not-quite-there alphabet poems (or alphabet board books) I have in progress:


Guided Tour of the Alphabet


The first four letters you will see
are known as A B C and D.

I’m sure you recognize the A
from inside words like cAt and plAy,

and B, I’m sure you know quite well,
begins Banana, Bat and Bell,

and C and D are truly handy
spelling words like CarD or CanDy.

Then come E and F and G.
We get to Eat because of E!

And if an F should make you Flip,
you need a G to get a Grip.

Next up: H and I and J.
H makes Horses who eat Hay.

The letter I is of great use
in making Ice-cream. J makes Juice.

After that comes K L M.
Thank goodness for all three of them!

How could we write down MiLK if they
packed their things and moved away?

Up ahead: N O and P.
They spell NOPe (along with E).

Beyond the P you’ll find a Q.
Quick, before it Questions you,

let’s move on to R S T!
At last, you now can ReST. U V

and W wait beyond the turn.
Ultra Violet Waves, don’t burn!

Then X Y Z, alive and chipper,
arrive to say eXamine Your Zipper!

And that’s as far as we can get.
I hope you liked the alphabet!

John,
Your "An A-Z of Modern Mores" gave me quite a chuckle in the wee early hours this morning. Thanks.

Steve

[This message has been edited by Stephen Rowe (edited May 18, 2008).]

>>Does anyone know - I bet someone does - why the alphabet is in the order that it is? mean I know it follows, partly, the orderof the Greek alphabet, but only partly. Anyway, like many of the arguments for God, it only shoves the question back one spaceI know someone will know. If you want to know stuff, ask a bunch of Americans.>>>

Amuricans are born now with the google gene, which makes
us all look rather smarter than we are.

We'll also be the first to get the implant. Right behind the ear, and underneath the baseball cap. Will keep all you foreigners posted.

....Actually, just a couple of weeks ago I was researching the alphabet for a project I'm doing, myself. I swear I'm not stealing your idea, though
I would like some kind of royalties for passing on this plausible theory:


http://www.straightdope.com/columns/070302.html

I have no abcedar(ic?) poems, but I have written a few
about letters and punctuation marks. I think they
might be the poor cousins of the abcedary.


----


About Certainty

So much can be learned
from the open curve
of the question mark,
from the comma’s calm,

from the certain G,
and the soft w,
from the kindred link
of the q and the u,

and yet,

and yet,

in this state,
a breath away
from the fervent curve,
from the i and the u

is the certain fear
of a kind of dark:
the abrupt chagrin,
the erasure mark.

And here is Wilbur on the asterisk. I know it's a stretch
on the abcedary theme, but it's such a lovely thing.

*
The asterisk
Says look below, as a star
We prize for its being far
And longing ask
For some release,
Joins to a dog or a bear,
A dipper, a tipping chair.
They give us peace
These downward looks
Of stars, the way they note
The birth of gods, and dote
On seaward brooks.
Some of the sea's
Stars are alive, I've seen
Them figure the white-green
Ocean frieze;
And I've known
The sea so rich and black
It gave the starlight back
Brighter. It shone
As if the high
Vault were its glass, and thus
It is. It's up to us
To gloss the sky.


-------

And here's mine, on the semi-colon, with a few asides on...uh...er...me.

Biographical Note:

I am a semi-colon kind of guy;
enamored of the curlicue, the dot;
the quiet, understated way it’s got
of letting life just slide and sidle by;
a ritualistic pause that may imply,
a thing or two, a shrug, a sigh, is what
I choose to offer; not the cold-and-hot
assaults of passion that transmogrify

a subtle hint into a joust with God:
no images, no metaphors, no blood,
no wild-eyed horses dying in the mud;
I don’t make love or war, I simply nod;
and as I semi-smile and semi-bow,
my semi-colon arcs a jaded brow.

The Punk of Punctuation

I say the semi-colon's trash.
When I need to pause, I dash.